


Poor Weight of a Coward

by calleryfield



Series: The Role She Held Before [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: AU, Based on how everyone was saying shuu and kirumi look a like so, Brother-Sister Relationships, Gen, Here we go, Pre-game Personalities, also a bit of ventwriting involved, because its pregame personalities so, extremely ooc, im worried people are going to interpret as incest, its not incest please dont say it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 17:09:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13415784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calleryfield/pseuds/calleryfield
Summary: Set in Pre-Game of V3: A proposal of Kirumi Tojo's pregame personality along with a proposed AU based on how everyone said Shuuichi and Kirumi looks alike.It always makes her happy to hear her brother so happy (but she knows that she wouldn’t be able to attain that happiness on her own. Why is she even trying?).





	Poor Weight of a Coward

The days are growing more monstrous the more she continues on. Funny when it’s only the beginning of the school year. A week in and school has already gotten her to droop her shoulders and drop to her knees when she gets home, both from the amounts of textbooks and notebooks in her book bag and from the copious amounts of stress she had. She wasn’t made to do this. She lacked the sufficient energy to pass through her school days efficiently. Even on the days where she felt like she had all the energy in the world, a day in school will surely prove to her otherwise by requiring her to put more energy than she had.  

Today is no different. On the verge of tears she finds her way back home using the same path she traveled daily. Her knees are buckling in and shaking with each step. She fears the stress will be too much on her body that she’ll trip and fall on her way back, but she manages by.

When she finds herself home, she shuts the door slowly before collapsing, back against the door and the straps of the bag falling down her arm. She looks up to the ceiling and tears form in her eyes. She tries to fight it, biting down on her thin pink lips, bruised from biting so harshly from the previous days, and yelling internally at herself to stop. Pushing her arm against her face, she rubs her pale arm forcefully against her eyes, trying to remove any evidence of her crying, but all it did is spread the salty tears across her face. 

She holds her own face in her hands and looks down at the ground, yelling louder in her mind to shut up. Shut it off. Shut it out. That she’s safe now and she can relax. For now, that’s all she can do to ease the pain. 

She also has to stop herself from crying more because she noticed that there is a pair of shoes right by her. Her brother must have been home. Now that she comes to that realization, she also notices the loud noises of screaming, debating, and crying coming from the living room. That can’t all be coming from him, can it?

The gray-haired girl rubs off the tears one last time before she gradually pushes herself off the ground. She grabs her bag and puts it on her shoulder again, hand remaining on the strap so it wouldn’t fall. 

With the worrying squinting of her eyes and anxious biting of her lips, the girl hesitantly trudges over to the entrance of the living room, only to be met with faint light coming from a brightly lit screen. The room itself is dark, compared to the entranceway of the house. In the middle of the room lays a figure on his stomach kicking his legs back and forth carelessly. With his left hand, he supports his head, and with his right hand, he is continuously grabbing chips from a bowl by him. There’s a smile with every time he chews. His eyes too are cheery with the lights of the television flashing in them. Just as she figured her younger brother would be doing.

“U-Um, I’m home,” the girl stammers, but the boy’s eyes are too glued to the screen to pay any attention to the girl.

She tries again, “I’m h-home, b-brother.” 

Yet again, no response.

She should get used to this. As soon as the television is on, no one would ever get an answer from her brother; not unless they poked him or something. 

But she won’t do that; she thinks she’ll just be a mere nuisance to him, especially when he’s enjoying his show so much. Just looking at him smile as he munches on his chips, watching his legs wave around; she wouldn’t dare want to disturb that peaceful look. 

Still, she absolutely has no idea why that television show is addicting to her brother. Her brother had tried to introduce the show to her, sitting down to watch it with her. She thought it was going to be some happy children’s cartoon that both she and her younger brother can enjoy together like before; she didn’t expect to find herself rushing to the restroom to puke. She could barely make it through a single episode. Her brother didn’t warn her either. 

She remains by the doorway, afraid that if she went to see the screen she’ll quickly make her way to the toilet once again.

“I-I’ll make some dinner for us, alright?” The girl excuses herself, even though her brother could care less. She moves herself to the kitchen.

Music begins to play from the screen and immediately is clicked off. The lights turn on in the living room. The girl hears a grunt followed by a happy exhale.

“Ah, I can’t believe the season’s over,” A male’s voice whines. “And that shocking end? So amazing!”

From the kitchen, the girl smiles as she prepares food. It always makes her happy to hear her brother so happy (but she knows that she wouldn’t be able to attain that happiness on her own. Why is she even trying?). 

Soon after, her brother enters the kitchen, retaining that smile she saw him have when watching TV. His jet black hair is a mess from obviously rolling on the floor with glee.

“Hello hello, sister.” The boy leans on the kitchen table. “When’d you get home?”

“O-Oh, I just got home,” she admits. “I-I’m making dinner for us.”

“How come you don’t want to watch Danganronpa with me?” He pouts, burying his face in his crossed arms on the table. 

She continuously forces a smile toward her brother, “I-I don’t want to throw up again. It’ll just be a big mess for you to clean up.”

“Aw but it’s fun,” He obviously ignores her comment. Her words fail to reach him. Quickly, he recuperates. “I’m going to make dinner.” 

“Ah, wait. I’m actually making dinner for the both of us. I thought it’d be nice if we ate together.” She sheepishly raises the pot of food she’s been working on.

Without a glance at the food, he says, “No thanks.”

“B-But—“

“I’ll just go with the instant ramen in the pantry.” He walks off to the pantry past the girl. (Is she doing something wrong?)

The girl turns to look at the boy’s arched back, as he shuffles to get what he was looking for. She opens her mouth but no words come to her mind to say to him. (Of course, she’d do that.)

She gulps and sadly nods at the boy’s response before continuing to work on the food that will most likely become leftovers for herself for the next few days. (It’s not like he’s going to eat her disgusting food.)

In silence, the brother and sister take separate corners of the kitchen to make their own food. Sometimes, the older sister would glance back toward her little brother, trying to speak to him, but the barrier between them grew strong over the years that it became too overwhelming to conquer. Even as he took his bowl upstairs, she still is not able to call out and say goodbye before he disappears for the rest of the day. (Will it always be like this?)

Her hands shake against the pot. She hates it when she shakes like that. So weak. She’s supposed to be the older sibling; she’s supposed to uphold a strong imagery and be the one to tend to her younger sibling, but all she truly is is a failure of a sister. 

And with these shaking hands can she feel the weak bond between her brother and her break away, dissipating from the barrier set between them by her failure to connect with him. 

The only way she can connect with him is something that she’d abhor — something that would torture her in her dreams and permeate into her daily thoughts. As much as she loved her brother, even when her brother fails to connect with her, too, the girl wouldn’t want to step up and sacrifice herself for that. She keeps telling herself that it is just a mere show, but her stomach says it’s far too much for her eyes to handle.

Ah, great! More tears! She’s grown so sick and tired of how consistently her eyes become puffy. 

She slams the pot of food against the table harshly before using her arm again to wipe the tears. (Why can’t she be stronger?)

Big sister? What a joke…

  
  


And it’s another day that she spends crying as soon as she returns home. Too tired from the day, the girl forced herself up the stairs and into her room, where she plopped herself into her chair and laid her head on the desk. It’s not that things got worse either; everything in school was the same, but everyday is just troublesome to get through when she’s constantly scolding herself to do something and she fails to do it. 

She was also too busy in anguish to see if her brother had come home before her. (Some big sister looking out for her brother...) 

It isn’t until there is a quick succession of knocking against her door. She looks over at her desk clock. It is too early for the knocking to be from her parents.

Is it really her brother? (Is she actually doing a good job for once?)

With a sudden burst of energy, she flings herself to the door and fumbles to open it. To her greatest surprise, her wish did come true. She looks down at her brother’s face to see that he has the brightest smile she has seen, teeth all showing. She could have sworn she could see his eyes glowing as well, but the obstruction of his eyes due to his black baseball cap made her doubt her vision. Even just seeing him stand — not even stand; the boy is practically bouncing in his stance. He’s elated and overjoyed. (She actually made him happy?)

“There’s auditions!” He immediately blurts out as soon as he gets the chance. He looks down and grabs a piece of paper from his pocket; the paper held the red lightning strike logo of his favorite show and the paper looked as though he had torn it out of a book or perhaps off a wall her brother had passed (and it wouldn’t be surprising seeing how obsessed he is). 

The girl uncurls her thin fingers toward the paper, the tip of fingers only lightly brush the edge of the paper before her brother snatches the paper away and hurriedly stuffing it back in his pocket, shoving his fingers into the paper and deep into his pocket to make sure it wouldn’t fall out. 

The boy adjusts his cap so he can see better and keeps up his toothy grin at his sister.

Meanwhile, if the girl had a smile, it would have been wavering at that moment, but all she feels is the floor disappearing under her. (She’s losing him.)

She bites down on her gums and forces her thinned lips into a smile, “A-And you’re going right?”

The boy nods ardently, “And then  _ I’ll  _ be a part of my favorite show! It’s a dream come true, sis!”

She bites down harder. The mask she’s trying to uphold is cracking. Her celadon eyes peer down at the other, nearly shut to keep the tears from pouring out. “I-I’m… very happy for you.”

And the boy nods again happily, oblivious to the effort she’s putting into not crying loudly. “It’s actually in a couple days, but I  _ know  _ I’ll get in! I’m the biggest fan of the show! I know anything and  _ everything  _ about the show, so I have to! Wouldn’t it be cool to see me on the show? I’ll be the best killer on there.”

Kill...Killer…?

Her heart drops into the sinking floor beneath her. Her stomach is churning and freezing her body icy cold. The girl attempts to gulp with shaky breath at her brother’s sadistic enthusiasm. (How could she have batted her eyes and let him be tainted like this?)

But he still keeps standing in front of her doorway (to her disbelief) with the biggest smile she has seen on his face in  _ years  _ (a happiness she’s never seen that she won’t ever retrieve). 

He didn’t wait for a response from her though. Soon after, her brother turns his back. In his elated tone he says, “Alright that’s all I wanted to say. Bye, sis!”

Goodbye.

Her tears start to seep from her eyes. She chokes trying to hold back her loud crying, but her brother doesn’t even notice her choking. She fervently shakes her head in refusal. Her brother is already walking away, but without thought, she grabs him by his hand. 

Her brother furrows his brow and turns back to his crying sister, continuing to stare at her lowered body, clinging onto his arm. (Say it! Say it already!)

But his sister can’t. The words are trapped in her throat, as she chokes on the words. Desperately the words claw out, trying to escape her lips but all it does is hurt her more. More tears come out instead. She’s heaving; the more she cries, the uglier the sobs become. 

She drags his arm down, her head bowed in embarrassment for her stupid actions. (Why won’t you say it?)

...And just like that, she slowly releases his fist from her grip. Her head remains bowed; she didn’t want to see the pitiful face that he was giving her (or rather the lack thereof). Yet, she can see his feet still standing there. (What is he thinking at this moment? Is he really pitying his older sister? What a great older sister…)

And yet again, he just turns around and walks away without a word. (She’s just that awful.) 

Taking a deep breath, she trudges back into her room, closing the door and gingerly locks the door. She places her back against the door and slides down. It’s the same pain that graces her every single day — the sobbing and this pathetic look of hers — but the pain is harsher this time. The stress she usually feels? That destroys her mind… but the one she feels now… it destroys her mind and heart. 

But of course she doesn’t do anything about it. All she’s good for is just crying. She’s far too weak. She can’t even stand right now. That’s all she’ll be good for. Crying. Crying. Crying.

There’s no breaking out of this cycle, and her loss is all her fault. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> It might be a while but the plan is this series will be 3 chapters long, including this one. I'm debating whether to put it as a fic as a part of a collection or a fic with chapters. Anyways, thanks for reading!


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